I Will Make You Hurt
by Gleegirl17
Summary: Complete AU: During the visit to Winterfell, King Robert takes a liking to Jon Snow and orders Ned Stark to bring the boy to King's Landing.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Hello everyone! This is my first time writing for this fandom and I hope to do it well. Please let me know what you think!

A/N2: Special thanks to my wonderful beta, Emberwillow14 for proofing this!

****WARNINGS! PLEASE READ FIRST!****  
This story will contain [eventually]: Explicit Non-Con, Slash M/M, Violence/abuse, Incest, Underage characters.  
Please do not read if any of these are triggering for you.

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**Eddard**

"The King and Queen are going to be visiting here?"

Ned Stark laughed quietly at the expression on Sansa's face. It couldn't be helped; his eleven year old daughter looked so excited. He glanced around the table quickly at his other children; with the exception of seven year old Bran, who dreamed of becoming a knight of the Kingsguard, none of his other children looked particularly thrilled. Nine year old Arya simply looked bored while fourteen year old Robb, Ned's heir, actually groaned loudly. Little Rickon, only three years old, didn't seem to realize what was going on. His ward, nineteen year old Theon Greyjoy, had his usual smile on his face. And fourteen year old Jon Snow just looked disgruntled, as usual.

Ned turned to his beautiful wife, Catelyn; the poor woman looked harried. He didn't blame her, the King hadn't left them much time to prepare for the visit.

"Yes," he replied with a smile, turning his attention back to his children. "The King and Queen, along with their children and retainers, shall be here within a fortnight. I want you all to be on your best behaviour, is that understood?" The last comment had been directed at Arya, his little troublemaker. "We don't need any problems during the royal visit."

Arya stuck her tongue out petulantly but nodded nevertheless.

Ned watched as the children stood and slowly started to make their way out of the great hall, struck by how quickly they all seemed to be growing up. He sighed deeply, not looking forward to this last task, and glanced at Catelyn before calling out, "Jon! Hold back a moment please."

He watched as the youth paused and looked back at him in confusion before urging the others to go on ahead, making his way back to the table.

Ned ignored the poorly hidden smug expression on his wife's face as his son approached hesitantly; he knew that Catelyn would have gladly done this task herself with joy. There was no love lost between his wife and his bastard son. He knew she felt shame that he had brought Jon back from Robert's Rebellion to live with them at Winterfell instead of leaving the boy with his mother. Ned couldn't have done that in any case; Jon's mother had died giving birth to him. He hadn't been about to just abandon the child to face the elements, Jon was his child and he had promised to take care of him. Ned also realized that Catelyn was angered by the simple fact that Jon looked more like a Stark, more like him, than any of the trueborn sons she had bore him.

Ned sighed deeply once again as Jon came to a halt in front of him, a questioning look on the youthful face. He didn't want to do this. "Jon, for the duration of the royal visit, it may be best if you were to stay out of sight."

He felt a pang in his chest as he watched his son's face change from confused to hurt. Not that he could blame the boy; he had never hidden Jon away from guests before now.

"Did I do something wrong, father?" Jon sounded very much like the child he still was at that moment, and not the man grown he seemed to be at all the other times. It just made the pang in Ned's chest worsen.

"No," he hurriedly tried to reassure his son, still ignoring his wife's smug expression. At least she knew to be quiet now. "Of course you didn't. It's . . . too complicated to explain properly. This is just what's best, for everyone."

Jon shot a quick, nervous glance at Catelyn before dragging his gaze back to Ned, his expression changing from hurt to anger. He gave a quick, jerky bow as he said, "As you wish, my lord."

Ned hated hearing his son addressing him in such a formal manner, but maybe this would also be for the best. Let Jon think that he was ashamed of him; Ned would explain the true reason after the King and his family had left Winterfell.

Ned watched sadly as Jon stalked away in anger, running his hand through his dark hair tiredly. "Don't look that way," he growled quietly to Catelyn.

"It's time for him to learn his place in life, Ned," Catelyn reasoned, much too calmly for the man's liking. "You cannot keep treating him as though he is equal to the other children. He will become a man grown expecting much more than what he will get."

_You have seen to it that he won't_, Ned thought silently, his eyes narrowing dangerously at his wife. Out loud, though, he only said in a deep warning tone, "He may not have my name, but he has my blood. Jon is equal to the other children in my eyes."

Catelyn knew that tone of voice and knew that it would be for the best if she said no more on the subject for now. Ned was glad for it; he didn't want to have to try and explain to his wife the true reason as to why he didn't want his bastard son in the sight of the royal family. Besides the obvious detail that the Lannisters would never allow a bastard to mix with them, Ned wanted to keep Jon away from King Robert Baratheon. He prayed to the gods that his worries were unfounded; he didn't want to think his best friend capable of harming a child. But until his prayers were answered, he would do his best to keep his oldest friend away from his son.

There was a time long ago, while Ned and Robert had both been fostered at the Eyrie; a time before Robert Baratheon had ever lain eyes on Lyanna Stark. Ned and Robert had been very close, closer than was probably appropriate. Sometimes Ned had wondered whether their adventures had been more than just boyhood mischief to Robert. But then the moment that Robert had seen his sister for the first time Ned had been forgotten, and their bond had changed to brothers. It was what was for the best.

But now Lyanna was gone and had been for many years, Robert was stuck in a loveless marriage to Cersei Lannister, and Ned . . . Ned acted as though he had forgotten those stolen moments with Robert at the Eyrie. If the King, so starved for love, happened to see a boy who looked like a young Ned . . . Would he be able to stop himself?

Ned prayed that he was horribly mistaken.

"We have many preparations to see to," he said to Catelyn, standing swiftly and helping his lady to her feet. "We have much to do before Robert arrives."


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thank you everyone who reviewed, alerted, and favorited the first chapter! I hope you won't be disappointed. Sorry that this is such a short chapter!

A/N2: Thanks to my wonderful beta Emberwillow14 for her work on this.

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**Arya**

Arya Stark was hiding from Septa Mordane, creeping silently through the stone halls of Winterfell to avoid being caught. She was avoiding her lessons on needlework; she knew that her stitches would be crooked and that Septa Mordane would just make her redo the stitches over and over again. Nymeria, her direwolf pup, trotted along beside her, tail wagging rapidly and pink tongue lolling out of her mouth at the prospect of an adventure. Arya decided to go watch the boys practicing in the court yard. There was a window in the covered bridge between the armory and the Great Keep where she could have a view of the whole yard; that's where she decided to head now.

When she arrived, she was slightly disappointed to see Jon already sitting on the window sill. She would never admit it out loud, but Jon was her favorite brother. Her favorite sibling. He never treated her as though she were only a girl, only a child. He let her tag along with him, even sparred with her on occasion. Unlike her oldest sibling Robb, and the older boy Theon Greyjoy. And Jon never talked down to her like Sansa did. Jon treated her as an equal. She thought it was horrible the way everyone else treated him just because he was a bastard, especially her mother. They even looked more alike than any of her other siblings; all the others had the Tully coloring and hair, but she and Jon looked more like their father. She was only disappointed that he was sitting here because that meant she wouldn't be able to watch him sparring with Robb and Theon Greyjoy. She always cheered for Jon to win his matches.

Arya paused a few feet away, studying Jon for a long moment. Her brother looked upset about something, scowling down at the court yard from where the sounds of clashing swords rose up. He held his own direwolf pup, the pure white and silent Ghost, close to his chest. Arya could practically feel the anger radiating off of him and she frowned, wondering what could be wrong.

"Jon?" she spoke quietly, cautiously stepping closer to the boy who was sitting in front of her.

She saw Jon jump a little before slowly turning to face her. "Shouldn't you be doing your needlework, little sister?" His lips quirked up into a small, affectionate smile.

Arya giggled and moved right up to the window, both of them looking down into the court yard below. Robb and Theon Greyjoy were sparring with each other. "I'm avoiding Septa Mordane. Why aren't you down there, practicing with Robb?"

She regretted asking as Jon's face darkened; their moment of joy was over already.

"I am practicing." Even Jon's voice was dark. "I'm practicing staying out of sight for when the King visits."

"I don't understand," Arya replied with a frown. "When would you need to stay out of sight?"

Jon sighed deeply, the anger written on his face draining away to leave only sorrow. It hurt Arya deeply to see it. "Father said that it would be for the best."

Arya couldn't, wouldn't, believe that their father would tell Jon something like that! Possibly her mother would, but certainly not their father! "But why?"

Jon laughed quietly, the harsh, sad sound sending shivers down Arya's back. "Why do you think, little sister? He is ashamed of his bastard child. What other reason could there be?"

Arya could only stare at Jon in shock, unable to believe that he would even think something so horrible as that. "I'm sure that's not true, brother-"

"The King is his best friend," Jon interrupted quietly but firmly, staring down unseeing at the court yard. "And according to the talk in the yards, the King himself has a dozen bastards of his own. Yet Father doesn't want the Royal family to see _me_. What other reason could there be?"

Arya's frown deepened as she listened to her brother speak. She hated it when he talked like this, like he wasn't good enough to be a part of their family. "Maybe it's not the King he wants to hide you from," she suggested hopefully, desperate to try and make Jon feel better. "I hear the people talking in the yard too. I hear that the Queen's family is really . . . proper. Father probably just doesn't want you to be faced with their cruelty."

Jon slowly turned his head to look at his sister with wide eyes, before laughing quietly again. This time the sound was more natural and Arya sighed in relief. At least that dark and depressed expression had disappeared off of his face. She grinned again and punched him playfully on the shoulder. He snorted back and messed up her already messy hair affectionately.

"Thank you, little sister," he said quietly as he climbed off the window sill and set his direwolf on the ground. "I'd better get down there; Robb is probably wondering where I am. He's losing to Theon pretty badly."

Arya watched him walk away swiftly, proud that she was able to make her brother feel better. She watched until he turned the corner then hopped onto the window sill to watch the boys practice. She grinned happily as Jon came into the court yard and Robb rushed over to their brother, waving one of their wooden swords around in the air.

She hoped that everything was back to normal.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Thank you to everyone who reviewed the other two chapters! Your feedback really means a lot to me. Please let me know what you think of this chapter?

A/N2: Thank you to the wonderful Emberwillow14 for betaing!

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**Jaime**

Winterfell; the ancient home of the noble Starks and the castle of the North. Cold grey stone, looming towers, snow. Oh gods, the snow. Even in the summer it snowed in the North. Ser Jaime Lannister was not impressed; he much preferred Casterly Rock, the family home of the Lannister house. He would even prefer King's Landing to this gods forsaken cold, stone, frozen hell. He had never before come this far North; as a member of the elite Kingsguard, he stayed with the King. There had never really been a good reason for him to come so far North anyway since he knew that the Lord Eddard Stark mistrusted him.

Ever since Jaime had slain the Mad King Aerys Targaryen during Robert's Rebellion, when Eddard Stark had ridden into the throne room at the Red Keep and had seen him sitting upon the Iron Throne covered in the Royal's blood, the lord seemed to think he was plotting to seize the throne. To be fair, Jaime knew that he had a reputation; he knew that he was called the Kingslayer behind his back. He embraced that name though, as it made him a legend. The only reason that it was spoken with scorn now was because he had been a member of Aerys Targaryen's Kingsguard then, too: sworn to protect the King above all else. And Jaime, the youngest member of the Kingsguard ever, had literally stabbed the Mad King in the back.

Someone had to do it. If it hadn't have been him, it would have been someone else.

But Ned Stark had never forgiven Jaime; nor had he forgotten. Lord Stark would always mistrust the Kingslayer, suspecting some nefarious plot to take over the throne. Jaime couldn't care less about being on the throne, though; ruling over the seven kingdoms seemed like such a bore. He knew that King Robert absolutely loathed the day-to-days aspects of being a ruler: listening to the complaints and requests of his subjects and passing judgement on the petty squabbles of the kingdom. Jaime much preferred the excitement of being a knight; even the vows he had taken to become a member of the Kingsguard were better than having to rule.

Besides, there was only one woman whom Jaime would ever love.

Finally the King and his retinue reach the cold, desolate castle, passing through the front gates on horseback. The entire population of the castle was assembled to greet them. Jaime could almost laugh at the sight of all the fur-clad people standing at attention; they all looked like the direwolves that were their House sigil standing on their hind legs. He did smile at the thought, though. He allowed his gaze to roam over each person discreetly as the formalities were sorted out. There was Eddard Stark, the lord of Winterfell, standing at the front; tall, stern, easily recognizable and as cold as the land in which he lived. The man had barely changed since the last time that Jaime had seen him, except possibly to grow even more stern and cold. The woman beside him had to be his wife, Lady Catelyn of the House Tully. The auburn hair was the giveaway. She was just as stern and cold as her husband. Their children all seemed to have the Tully features as well, except the younger girl who had the Stark look about her.

Jaime's eyes passed over the knights and retainers in disinterest, dismissing them as unimportant. The serving wenches and maids held no interest for him either. His disinterested gaze gave one more bored sweep over the crowd before coming to a surprised halt on a figure that seemed to be hiding in the shadows at the very back. The young man, only a boy really, was the spitting image of a young Ned Stark; dark and cold, and much too stern for a boy of his apparent age. Jaime knew who it must be, the one stain on Ned Stark's perfect honour: the bastard son.

He stared at the boy curiously; not even King Robert, who was Ned's closest friend, was said to know who the woman was that had been able to cause the honourable Lord Stark to forsake his marriage vows. It was almost unbelievable. But the evidence of such a feat was right there in front of him, tall and straight and cold, looking more the Stark than any of the trueborn sons. Jaime couldn't hold back an amused chuckle; that fact must make Lady Catelyn angry.

Jaime continued to watch the boy discreetly as the King and Lord Stark headed towards the crypts, completely ignoring his sister's request to rest. Even at this distance he could see that the boy seemed to be angry, probably at being shoved to the back as befitted his station in life. Jaime had heard tellings of how Eddard Stark treated his bastard as though he were a trueborn. Jaime continued to watch, until the crowd started to disperse and the boy disappeared among the shadows.

He moved across the courtyard easily, a playful smile on his face, to stand beside the fuming queen. "Let him pay his respects to his dead love," he murmured cautiously, eyes sweeping over the crowd once more to be sure that they were not receiving any undue interest. "You are the one whom is sharing his bed at the end of the night, dearest sister."

Cersei huffed indignantly and whirled on him, the anger written on her beautiful face plain for the entire world to see. "That does not matter to these people, brother," she hissed venomously before stalking towards the castle. Jaime followed her in silence. "For him to do this undermines my authority; my authority as the queen, my authority as his wife, and my authority as the mother of his heirs. He just humiliated me in front of these people!"

"Calm yourself," Jaime cautioned quietly, keeping the smile on his face for anyone they might pass as they sped through the cold halls of Winterfell. "You're causing a scene, which will only humiliate you further."

His sister huffed one last time then slowed her pace, the anger draining out of her beautiful face to be replaced with a demure smile. Jaime smirked as he followed her into her empty chambers. With one last glance around, he shut the heavy wooden door behind himself and bolted it.

Cersei whirled on her twin brother again, the smile dropping off of her face immediately. "What do you think you're doing?"

Jaime's smirk widened; without speaking a word he just reached over and gripped his sister's slender wrist and pulled her towards him. Of course she put up a fight. She always did. He always won.

"Not here, Jaime," she growled, splaying one slender hand across his [gold] chest plate and attempting to push him away. "Someone might come in!"

"The door is bolted shut," he replied easily, winding his free arm around his beautiful twin's waist. "As well, your husband is bound to be in the crypts for a while and the children are getting acquainted with the Starks. We are alone for now, sweet sister. I suggest we make the most of it."

Cersei finally succumbed, like he knew she would, winding her arms around his neck and gazing lovingly up into his green eyes, identical to her own. "Then make the most of it we shall," she whispered before his lips descended on her own.

They knew that they had to be quick; there were any number of things that could interrupt them. He pushed her back on to her bed, climbing on top of her swiftly. They didn't bother to undress fully, he just hiked up her voluminous skirts around her waist while she pulled open his breeches. Without pause he thrust into the tight heat, covering her mouth once again with his own to muffle her cries and moans. It had been over a month since their last coupling and both were rather desperate and needy. Neither of them took long to finish; just a few hard, rough thrusts, and then he was spilling his seed inside her.

Jaime pulled away with a smirk, quickly adjusting his clothing so that they were once again in order. He bowed low to his sated sister still on the bed. "My Queen," he murmured softly, pressing one last loving kiss to her lips before rising once more to his feet.

He left her chambers then, knowing that his absence had probably already been noted. He made sure to close the heavy wooden door behind himself and started down the long hall in silence, musing over another wonderful coupling. They were both aware that should their affair ever be discovered, it would mean the end of them, so they were very careful. He would never give her up though. Cersei was his love; as they were twins, they knew each other like no one else could.

Jaime had just turned the corner when he stopped suddenly, frozen by the sight presented to him. The bastard boy and Catelyn Stark were standing a few feet away from him, a pure white beast that appeared to be a wolf pup pressing protectively against the boy's legs. Luckily they hadn't noticed him, so he slipped silently back around the corner to listen in.

_Perhaps I am not the only one involved in a forbidden affair_, he thought with a small smirk, leaning back against the stone wall casually.

"Father told me to stay out of sight," he heard the boy say in a low tone, anger barely concealed. "And that's what I'm doing. I didn't think that there would be anyone in this part of the castle now."

Unfortunately, it didn't sound like they were having an affair; that would have been scandalous. And more fun.

"_Lord Stark_-" Jaime couldn't help but notice how Lady Stark emphasized those words, "-told you to stay out of sight, not wander around the halls near to where the Royal family will be staying!"

"I'm sorry, Lady Stark." The boy's voice sounded strained as though he were trying not to lose his temper. "Where would you have me go?"

"Go stay in your own chambers." The woman's voice was cold. "No one will be forced to see you there."

Jaime heard the rustle of skirts and light footsteps heading in the opposite direction; he assumed that Lady Catelyn had stormed off. No, Catelyn Stark was too much of a lady to storm off. She would most likely retreat gracefully at a swift pace. He chuckled lightly, even that small noise sounding loud in the quiet of these stone walls.

"Who's there?" The boy didn't sound frightened, merely cautious. "Show yourself, or I will send my direwolf after you."

The threat just caused Jaime to laugh out loud as he pushed himself away from the wall and stepped around the corner. "Is that what that beast is? A direwolf? It's rather small, don't you think?"

The boy's glower was almost threatening. "He's still young; he'll be huge when he's full grown. Already he's bigger than the others."

"Others? There are more of these beasts around?" Jaime asked curiously, sauntering slowly closer to the pair and ignoring the wolf's growling.

"Each of the Stark children received one."

"Ah, but you are not a Stark child." Jaime smirked as a light, angry flush colored the boy's face. "So the Lord Stark will include you among his own when presenting gifts of his House sigil to his children, but not when his oldest and dearest boyhood friend visits. How sad for you." His smirk widened as the boy bristled with obvious anger. "What is your name, bastard?"

For a tense moment, Jaime thought that the boy would refuse to answer, such was his anger. The boy's posture was rigid as he finally replied, "Jon Snow, ser."

Jaime passed the boy by, chuckling once more. "Well, Jon Snow, I suggest you head to your chambers now, before a member of the Royal family catches sight of you and takes offense. That would shame your lord father."

He wasn't sure if the growl that followed him down the hall came from the wolf or the boy.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: I'm sorry for the long wait for this chapter; I've just been trying to get a sort of buffer of chapters done before posting it. But alas, work and vacation got in the way, and I haven't had a chance to really write for a while. Also, I was worried about the response that chapter would get. Still am worried.

A/N2: Thank's to my wonderful beta Emberwillow14!

****WARNING**: **There is explicit non-consensual sex in this chapter! Please, please, PLEASE do NOT read if that bothers you.

**Jon**

_It's not fair_, Jon Snow thought angrily, stalking through the empty stables of Winterfell in search of Ghost. His direwolf, while usually so obedient, had disappeared from his room. As Ghost seemed to be the only living thing he was allowed to be around at the current time, he was a little desperate to find is pet. He wouldn't admit it, but he was a little glad that Ghost had escaped; he himself had been starting to go a little stir crazy being locked up in his room alone. At least now if he were to be caught by Lady Stark, he had a good reason to be wandering about the grounds. She would most likely approve of him trying to keep his pet out of sight as well, as she hated the direwolves. There wasn't really much danger of being caught, though; everyone would be attending the welcome feast for the king. It was a really lavish affair that had already been going on for hours. Lady Stark would more likely be in bed than not. And he probably could have attended the feast if he had wanted to, as long as he sat at the back of the dining hall. But it still wasn't fair that he had to hide completely.

Jon didn't understand why his father would want to hide him away from the king. It was almost assured that Robert Baratheon already knew about Ned Stark's bastard son, so it wasn't as though it would shame his father. Besides, the maids spoke of how the king had fathered over a dozen bastards of his own. Jon was inclined to believe Arya's theory, that it was because of the Lannisters that he was to stay hidden away. But even that idea had its flaws, for the Lannisters already knew of him (as evidenced during his run in with Ser Jaime Lannister earlier). He just couldn't understand then, why his father would suddenly wish to hide him away.

It wasn't fair.

He knew he shouldn't be expecting so much; he was incredibly lucky that his father acknowledged him at all and took him in to raise among the trueborn. It just . . . hurt that his father seemed able to shove him to the side so easily. Actually, it hurt that his father apparently felt shamed enough to hide him away. Jon hated to think that his mere presence caused his father shame. It was times like these that Jon wished he could just leave. Maybe he could go to the Wall, where even a bastard could find honour and make a name for himself.

Jon had talked to Uncle Benjen, his father's younger brother, about it. Going to the Wall to serve the Night's Watch, taking the Black. It was a dream of his, a dream to make a name for himself. Uncle Benjen was the first Ranger of the Night's Watch; Jon could go North with him. But his uncle had refused, claiming that Jon was too young to join and that he should experience life more before taking those vows.

So Jon was trapped at Winterfell, where he didn't truly belong and he didn't think he was truly wanted.

The door to the stable suddenly slammed open and a large silhouette appeared in the moonlit entrance. Jon froze briefly in the middle of the main hall before throwing himself into the nearest empty stall. He landed with a soft thump in the hay, holding his breath and hoping whoever it was would leave soon.

"Who's there?" The voice that called out was loud and slurred; the man was obviously drunk. The voice was familiar though, and Jon had a sinking suspicion he knew who it was. Still he remained silent, praying to the gods that the man would give up and go away.

"I already saw you! I, your king, command you to reveal yourself!"

Jon bit his lip and pressed back against the hay as the king's heavy footsteps neared his hiding place. He stayed silent, hoping that he wouldn't get in trouble; either for ignoring an order from his king or for being seen by the king.

The footsteps came to a stop right outside the stall he was hidden in. "Are you some kind of craven? I saw you flee in there! Reveal yourself now!"

Jon held his breath, his heart beating wildly. He was not craven; he just didn't want to shame his father even more by being caught by a member of the Royal family. Again. But would ignoring a direct order from his king shame his father even more than being caught? He had just decided to reveal himself and face whatever punishment his father saw fit, when the opening to the stall was suddenly filled with the shape of the king.

Jon froze, his eyes wide.

Robert Baratheon was a very intimidating man, even if he had gotten fat. But the intimidating factor was somewhat lessened when the man was swaying with drink, a surprised and confused expression on his face.

"By the gods, Ned! You look so young, like a boy!" The king's voice was still booming, but now it was more affectionate than threatening. "Just as when we were children."

It took Jon a moment to realize that the king was speaking to him; the man must really be drunk to mistake him for his father. "Your Grace," he replied lowly, falling to one knee before the king. "I'm not Ned Stark-"

"Who else would you be?" the king roared, stumbling closer to him. Jon winced as thick fingers wound into his hair and forced his head up roughly. "You look exactly like Ned!"

Jon could only stare up at the man, his head held in place by the king's strong hand. "I'm his son-"

"I met his children," the king growled darkly, throwing the boy back down onto the hay. "You have to be Ned; you can only be Ned!"

Jon slowly climbed to his feet, keeping his eyes on the man warily. "I'm his bastard son, Jon Snow," he replied carefully, embarrassment coloring his cheeks slightly. "Lord Stark is my father."

The king looked even more confused before suddenly lurching forward. Jon grunted softly as his back hit the stone wall painfully. The considerable weight of the man was pinning him flat against the cold wall; he didn't know if he should try to try to push the king away. He could smell the drink on the king's breath, the man's mouth uncomfortably close to his own.

"I've missed this Ned: the young and more relaxed one." It didn't seem like the king was actually listening to a word that Jon was saying. "Remember the fun we had together in the Eryie? Remember the adventures?"

Jon started to panic as the king pressed against him more, lips and beard brushing against his cheek. He was unsure of where this was leading to, and he was very confused. Then the king shifted and Jon felt something hard press against his hip.

He froze completely under the man, hardly even daring to breathe. "Your Grace," he said slowly, quietly, trying to press himself even farther back against the wall away from the man. "I am not Lord Stark. I am his bastard son, Jon Snow."

The king didn't even acknowledge his words. "I miss those old times, Ned. Before everything was so complicated and boring. We had fun together, didn't we?" He shifted again, causing his groin to brush against Jon's; Jon flinched back, but there was nowhere for him to escape to. "My life is so dull now, Ned. My wife can barely stand me and the wenches . . . The wenches are nothing. I miss you."

"Please Your Grace." Jon fought to keep the rising panic out of his voice. "Please, I am not Ned Stark. I am his son."

The king continued to ignore his words, and instead he started to move his hips steadily against Jon's. Dry, chapped lips found his neck, pressing wet kisses to his skin. Large, strong hands came up to grasp his narrow hips in a bruising grip. Jon closed his eyes tightly, desperately wishing that he was only dreaming that the king of the seven kingdoms was rutting against him roughly. He brought his hands up to push at the king's broad shoulders with all his strength, but the man was just too heavy.

"Please, Your Grace," he said again, the panic and fear coming through in his voice. "Please stop!"

The king's hands gripped Jon's hips tighter and slammed the boy's whole body back against the wall roughly, forcing a pained gasp out of Jon's throat. "How dare you try to refuse me, I am your king!" He slammed the boy against the wall of the stable again. Then his grip loosened and the man started to gently stroke Jon's hips. "I'm sorry, Ned. But remember how much fun we used to have together? We could have fun again."

Jon shook his head frantically, the panic rising inside of him even more when he felt thick fingers tugging clumsily on the laces of his breeches. Still, the man was his king. He could, by law, take anything he wanted from him. But Jon really didn't want to give the king his virginity. He could feel tears burning in his eyes as the rough hands pushed his breeches down, exposing his completely to the king.

"Stop," he tried again, pushing harder against the man's strong shoulders. He still couldn't budge the man. Still the man refused to listen to his words.

"You're bigger than I remember," the king murmured into Jon's ear, wrapping one hand around his length. Jon let out a quiet gasp as he felt himself start to harden under the man's attentions. "Ahh, to be young again," the king laughed lowly as he stroked the boy to full hardness.

Jon could feel his face reddening as another gasp slipped past his lips. No one besides himself had ever touched him like this. It felt different; pleasure was coursing through his entire body even though he didn't want this man touching him. Even the shame he felt at having another man touching him like this was enough to cut through the pleasure that the king was forcing on his body.

"Stop!" Jon gasped once more, even as his hips moved unbidden into the king's hand. He wondered for a brief moment how many girls had been taken by the king while he was drunk, begging him to stop. It was a horrible, cruel thought, but Jon couldn't help but wonder when he himself was being pressed against a wall.

The king started to move his hand faster along the length, his lips pressing once again to Jon's throat. "You don't really want me to stop," he muttered between wet kisses. "You always played hard to get, Ned. But you always submit to me in the end."

Jon shook his head even more frantically as the king pressed in even closer to him. "I'm not Ned!" he cried out, feeling hot tears start to slip down his cheeks. "I'm his bastard son, Jon Snow!"

The king stepped away then, and Jon felt a wave of relief wash over him. That is, until the king gripped his hips tightly and turned him roughly to face the wall. He pressed himself against the boy again heavily, trapping him against the stone wall. Jon felt his breath catch in his throat as he felt the man's hard length pressing against his bare backside. He brought his hands up and tried to shove himself away from the wall, silently cursing the king's massive girth.

"Just relax, Ned," the king's slurred voice whispered in Jon's ear. Large, rough hands kneaded at his pale ass in a strangely gentle manner. "You always forget to relax."

Jon couldn't hold back a frightened whimper. "Please, Your Grace! Stop this!"

The hands faltered for a brief moment before sliding to grip Jon's hips again roughly and slamming him against the wall again. The boy gave a pained groan, another frightened whimper escaping his lips.

"Do not say no to me, Ned," the king growled lowly in Jon's ear, one hand pinning the boy to the cold wall, the other pulling open his own breeches. Jon stiffened as he heard the king spit into his hand. "Not now. I told you that I need you. You can't say no. Not to your king." With those words, he pressed forward roughly, slamming into the boy.

Jon cried out; the pain was excruciating. He felt like he was being split open and torn apart from the inside. He sobbed loudly as the king kept on moving, thrusting into him at a rapid pace. His own body was slamming painfully into the wall with every thrust; it was all he could do to brace himself against the wall.

Thankfully, it didn't last long before the king was spilling his seed inside of Jon. For a long moment the man didn't move. He just leaned heavily against the boy, panting heavily. Finally he pulled out; Jon could feel the king's seed spilling out and down his thighs, leaving a disgusting sticky trail. Jon didn't move except his shaking shoulders as sobs continued to spill from between his lips. He prayed to the old gods that the king was done and would leave him alone now. He didn't think his body would be able to handle anything more.

For a change, his prayers were answered. The king just fixed his breeches and staggered off, probably back to the feast. Jon didn't care where the man went; he was just thankful that the man was gone. Slowly, hissing in pain, he pulled up his own breeches and made his way back to his own chambers. Ghost would eventually find his way back. Right now, Jon just needed to get himself cleaned up.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: I'm sorry about the long wait! I'm a little blocked for this particular staory at the moment, but hopefully it will be unblocked soon. Let me know what you think, please!

A/N2: As always, thank you to the wonderful Emberwillow14 for betaing.

**Robert**

"Your Grace?"

King Robert Baratheon scowled darkly into his breakfast at the formality. "Damn it , Ned. It's much too early for that kind of civility. Just call me Robert as usual and be done with it." Finally he looked up at his oldest friend, his scowl still firmly in place. "Well? Come in and tell me what has you up and being so formal this early in the morning."

Ned Stark entered the king's chambers and sat stiffly across from Robert, a slight smile on his face. "It's almost midday, Robert; I've been up since dawn. You, it appears, slept in."

Robert barked out in laughter and shook his head, the scowl finally falling from his face. "I had a long night, Ned. Probably much longer than yours. And I am the King; I should be allowed to sleep in after such a long night." He took a long swig from his cup of wine and grinned. "Speaking of last night, I had a vision. When I went outside to piss, I saw you in the stables as a young lad. No more than fifteen or sixteen. The vision certainly felt real though!"

He was so sure that it had been a vision, even though he could still feel the warm body beneath his own and taste the salty skin. He was so caught up in his remembrances that he didn't notice Ned's startled look or brief pause.

"What do you mean by that?" Ned asked carefully, his voice betraying no emotion. "What do you mean, 'felt' real enough?"

Robert snorted inelegantly, still not noticing his friend's stiffness. "I mean that the vision certainly felt like a man when I touched it!"

Again Ned paused; this time Robert noticed.

"What are you thinking of?" the king demanded, swallowing down another mouthful of wine. "You always look so serious."

Ned didn't even crack a smile. "I wonder . . ." He mused quietly, staring hard at the king for a moment. "My bastard son, Jon, looks remarkably like I did all those years ago. Maybe it was him you saw."

It was Robert's turn to pause, actually thinking back to the night before. The boy had said something about not being Ned . . . But everything from the previous night was a blur (so he told himself). "It's possible," he conceded gruffly as he refilled his wine cup, wishing to change the subject. "What are you doing here this morning?"

But Ned ignored his question. "What did you do to my son last night, Robert?"

"Seven Hells, Ned! Don't act like I hurt the boy!" Robert exploded, slamming his palm down onto the wooden table with a crack. "I didn't do anything to your bastard!" That was a straight out lie, but Robert would rather die than tell the honourable Ned Stark that he may have fucked his protesting son.

"Robert . . ." Ned's tone was cold as steel in warning.

"Ned," The king's tone was just as cold, "I may have pushed him around a little, thinking that he was you! I can't remember! Now what did you come here for?"

Ned gave Robert a long, hard stare before letting out a deep sigh, his entire body slumping. As stubborn as the Starks are, Robert Baratheon could be even more so. "I came here to inform you . . ." He paused and swallowed nervously as he fell to one knee. "I've decided to accept your offers. I would be honoured to be the Hand of the King."

Robert broke into a huge grin and stood, striding around the table to pull Ned back to his feet and into a grateful hug. "That's great! What made you change your mind? Don't give me that look, I know you were planning to refuse."

"It is my duty to serve my King," the other man replied solemnly as he hugged the king back, but Robert could hear a smile in the man's voice.

"Damn it Ned! I told you to stop being so formal!" He roared with laughter, squeezing his friend tightly. "I knew you would come around eventually! Of course you'll have to come down to King's Landing. You will be bringing your family with you I presume, as Jon Arryn had."

Ned had to struggle briefly to extract himself from the King's tight grip. "Actually, Catelyn will be staying here at Winterfell with Robb to teach him how to run the North. Since Cat is staying, Rickon will have to stay. But the girls and Bran will be coming South with me. It will be good for them."

Robert filled his cup with more wine, filling a second for Ned as well. "What about your bastard?" He asked carefully. "Will he be staying here as well?"

It was then that Ned Stark came as close to snorting as the king had ever heard. "No; Catelyn would never allow it."

Robert paused for a brief moment, a dangerous, dark thought filling his head, as he handed Ned the second cup. "Drink," he ordered firmly before the other man could even open his mouth to protest. "So then you're bringing him to King's Landing."

"You know he would not be welcome in the South," Ned replied after taking a small sip of wine. "No, Jon will be going North with Benjen to the Wall."

"The Wall?" Robert snorted into his drink incredulously. "The Wall is no place for a boy!"

"What would you have me do?" Ned shot back with a dark frown. "The King's Court holds no place for bastards, and he cannot stay here. Benjen told me that Jon has expressed to him a desire to go North. It may be for the best."

"Nonsense!" Robert dropped himself back into his seat at the table, shaking his head at his friend's ridiculousness. "The boy has barely lived his life yet! You can't let him go to the Wall and take those vows without letting him first experience what he will be giving up!"

"But Cat will not allow him to stay here-"

"Then bring your bastard to King's Landing!" Robert interrupted with a roar. "I will find something for him to do there!" There were already a few things floating around in his head that his friend's pretty look-a-like bastard could do for him after last night.

But Ned shook his head, suspicion clear on his face. "I can't-"

"Bring your bastard South, Ned," the king cut in again, his tone holding no room for argument. He stared Ned down sternly. "That is an order from your king."

After all, the boy looked remarkably like a young Ned.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: I'm sorry about the wait. This term at school is going to be a busy one because I'm in four literature classes, so I don't really have time to do any writing. I'm also very sorry that this chapter is so short; I promise that the next one will be longer. Please let me know what you think?

A/N2: I keep wanting to use the character descriptions from the TV show rather than the books. I'm trying my best to keep them straight, but if anyone notices that I made a mistake, please let me know :)

A/N3: Thank you to my lovely beta, Emberwillow14!

**Eddard**

The hardest part of leaving Winterfell was telling his family, his wife and his children whom he loved dearly, that they were going to be separated for who knew how long.

Ned Stark couldn't bear to look into any one of his children's eyes; he couldn't even bring himself to look straight at Catelyn, and she already knew about the arrangements. Most of them, anyway. Instead, he fixed his gaze on a spot on the back wall as he spoke.

"The King has asked me to be his new Hand, and I have accepted."

He glanced around swiftly, taking in the surprised expressions of his children and the resigned and sad expression of his beautiful wife. It didn't appear as though any of them really realized what it meant for Ned to be the Hand of the King.

"You're leaving, aren't you?" It was Jon's voice that finally broke the tense silence, his dark eyes flickering nervously over to Catelyn briefly before finding their way back to his father. Ned could see what the boy was thinking about; he could see Catelyn's expression tighten at the boy's question. "You're going South."

"Yes," Ned responded with a small nod. "But I am not the only one who is going." He held up his hand to ward off the inevitable barrage of questions. "Robb, you and Rickon will be staying here with your mother. You, in particular, will need to learn how to run the household. Remember, there must always be a Stark in Winterfell. Sansa and Arya shall both be coming South to King's Landing with me, as will you, Bran." He glanced at his young son with a small smile quickly. "You girls will learn the ways of the Southern ladies and Bran can start training to be a knight."

"Really?" Sansa practically squealed, her face lighting up with delight. Ned noticed that, with the possible exception of Bran, his elder daughter appeared to be the only one excited by this news. "Are we going to live with the Royal family? Are we going to travel with the Royal family? Can we bring our wolves?"

"I don't want to be a proper Southern lady!" Arya complained, rather loudly, over her sister's excited questions. "I don't want to go South! I want to stay here!"

"Why must you leave at all?" Robb asked at the same time. "Why must you be the Hand? I- We need you here!"

"Where am I to go?" Jon's quiet voice cut through all of the others. Slowly, one by one, his siblings fell silent and turned to look at their father expectantly.

Ned himself sighed deeply, rubbing at his beard tiredly. In hindsight, seeing Catelyn's poorly hidden smug expression, he mused that he should have told his wife about the change in plans beforehand. "You . . . You will be coming South with me as well."

"What?!" Catelyn's surprised gasp came as no shock to Ned; he knew she would view it as a privilege that Jon was unworthy of. "I thought we decided he was to go North to the Wall with your brother!"

"I would rather go to the Wall," Jon added, his voice still quiet. Ned noticed that his son seemed to be uncomfortable, shifting slightly.

"I'm sorry," he replied slowly, responding to both his wife and son. "That is just not possible at this time. Robert, the King-" he turned to face Jon fully, watching the boy's reaction carefully. "The King has ordered me to bring you to King's Landing."

Ned saw the color drain from Jon's face before the boy had a chance to hide his shock. He ducked his head, allowing his dark hair to hide his face, as he nodded. "Yes, Father."

Silence reigned strong for another long moment before the questions and complaints started up again. Ned answered each one to the best of his abilities, but most of his attention was on Jon. The boy was standing apart from the others; in fact, it appeared as though he had stepped away from his family several feet. His arms were wrapped around his chest and he looked as though he were about to get sick.

Ned wanted to go to him, to find out exactly what had happened with Robert that night. He wanted to know why the King of the Seven Kingdoms wanted his bastard son in King's Landing.

He had a bad feeling about the whole situation, but who was Ned to disobey a direct order from the King?


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: I am so sorry for the wait! This has been the hardest chapter to write; I must have changed my mind on how it was supposed to end at least three times. Also, most of the dialogue has been taken straight from the book; I know that's lazy writing, but it worked best with my original idea. I'm sorry. Let me know what you think?

A/N2: Thanks to Emberwillow14 for betaing.

**Jaime**

The North was really excruciatingly boring, as was Winterfell in particular. There didn't seem to be anything to do, outside of training. It was at times like these that Jaime Lannister almost envied other men: the only thing the others seemed to do was visit the brothel in town. At least that is what Tyrion liked to say. Jaime could only scoff at his younger brother at these times, replying that he could not visit the brothel lest he break his Kingsguard vows.

His brother needn't know that he broke those vows on a regular basis.

But that still left Jaime with very little to do to entertain himself beyond his Kingsguard duties. Thank the Gods for Cersei. Even with his lovely sister there to distract him, the Royal visit was dragging on too long. He couldn't wait to get back to King's Landing, and he knew that Cersei felt the same way. Fortunately, they were getting ready to set out within the next week. Their departure couldn't come soon enough for Jaime, though.

There was a tension running throughout the entire castle, and while Jaime was usually able to ignore such things with ease, even he was starting to feel stifled by it.

It appeared that Lord Eddard Stark had managed to anger his lovely wife by not mentioning to her that his bastard would be going to court. If Jaime were a good man, he would feel sorry for the poor woman. But, as it was widely acknowledged up here in the North, he wasn't a good man, and he found the entire situation rather amusing. And rather curious, as well; he couldn't figure out why Lord Stark would subject his precious bastard to the cruelty of the South.

That is, he was curious until he noticed how the king watched the pretty bastard with a familiar, hungry gleam in his eye.

Then Jaime was curious if Ned knew that his best friend wanted to turn his son into one of his whores.

He was still trying to figure out how to work that little piece of knowledge to his own advantage. In the meantime, the tension was getting stifling and he needed a distraction.

It had been quite by accident that the twins had found the crumbling, abandoned tower, but it was the perfect spot for their secret couplings. It had once been a watch tower, but it was evident that it had fallen into disuse a great many years ago. Now there were only the crows keeping company with the dust that blanketed everything, the stone walls that were crumbling and creaking in the wind. But despite all its faults, the tower walls were thick. No one would discover them there; it was perfect.

At least, it would be perfect if Cersei would just stop talking.

"I don't like it," she was saying for probably the third time since they had undressed. Jaime rolled his eyes, causing his sister to glower darkly at him. "You should be the Hand."

Jaime almost laughed out loud at the absurdity. "Gods forbid. It's not an honour I'd want." He stretched lazily, grinning and shrugging when his sister shot him an icredulous look. "There's far too much work involved."

Cersei practically snarled at him and stepped right up to him, standing close enough that he could feel her breasts brushing against his own chest with every breath she took. "Don't you see the danger this puts us in? Robert loves the man like a brother."

Jaime couldn't hold back the snort of laughter that escaped as he gazed down into the piercing green eyes that were identical to his own. "Robert can barely stomach his brothers. Not that I blame him." He tugged playfully at one of his twin's golden locks, trying to make her smile. "Stannis would be enough to give anyone indigestion."

"Don't play the fool!" She swatted his hand away from herself irritably and turned to start pacing around the room restlessly. "Stannis and Renly are one thing, and Eddard Stark is quite another. Robert will _listen_ to Stark. Damn them both!" She growled as she started making her way back to Jaime. "I should have _insisted _that he name you, but I was certain Stark would refuse him."

Jaime watched his sister pace in silence for a long moment, silently thanking the gods that Stark hadn't refused; they couldn't afford the suspicion that would hang over them if he, the Kingslayer, had been named Hand. Plus, he rather enjoyed being a knight. But he knew that Cersei still needed to be reassured. "We ought to count ourselves fortunate. The King might as easily have named one of his brothers, or even Littlefinger, gods help us." He ran his fingers through his own thick golden hair, almost shuddering at that thought. If Littlefinger had been named the Hand of the King, his own life might as well be forfeit. That little man had a way of knowing too many things. "Give me honourable enemies rather than ambitious ones, and I'll sleep more easily by night."

Cersei stopped in her pacing to give the man another incredulous look. Jaime could see that she did not understand how having Eddard Stark as the Hand could possibly be a good thing, and he was sick and tired of trying to explain it to her.

Ned Stark could always be trusted to do the honourable thing, and that made him predictable.

"We will have to watch him carefully," she finally muttered in concession, resuming her brisk pacing of the tower.

Jaime actually did roll his eyes, hoping that his sister had finally realized the truth in his words and they could finally let the matter drop. There was nothing they could do about now, at any rate. "I would sooner watch you. Come back here." He reached out swiftly as she passed close by him and pulled her against his chest with one hard tug. She started to struggle, as she always did, the anger and annoyance written clear on her face. But he held her tight, bringing his lips to the soft, pale skin of her throat.

"You are as blind as Robert," Cersei growled, shoving ineffectually against his hard chest to try and free herself.

"Jaime groaned quietly in frustration, still refusing to let the woman go. "If you mean I see the same thing, yes," he growled slowly, not yet taking his lips from her neck. "I see a man who would sooner die than betray his king."

Cersei refused to be set off track however, tangling her fingers in the thick golden hair of her twin brother and yanking his head away from her. "He betrayed one already, or have you forgotten?" She hissed angrily, glaring into the mirror green eyes. "Oh, I don't deny he's loyal to Robert, that's obvious. What happens when Robert dies and Joff takes the throne? And the sooner that comes to pass, the safer we'll all be. My husband grows more restless every day. Having Stark beside him will only make him worse." She sighed in frustration and released her tight grip on Jaime's hair. "He's still in love with the sister, the insipid little dead sixteen-year-old. How long until he decides to put me aside for some new Lyanna?"

Jaime thought bout the dark, hungry glee that entered the king's eye every time Stark's bastard came into sight, how the pretty young bastard looked so much like a younger Ned Stark and in turn, he supposed, like Lyanna Stark.

_You may be replaced sooner than you think, dear sister_, Jaime mused silently. Out loud, though, he said, "You should think less about the future and more about the pleasures at hand." He leaned forward to bite at her throat playfully.

"Stop that!" Since she had stopped struggling, he had loosened his hold on her; now she jerked away to slap him hard across the face.

Jaime couldn't hold back his laughter; he adored how vicious and strong his beautiful sister was at all times. "All this talk is getting very tiresome, sister," he responded in a low voice, the one he knew that Cersei could not resist. He reached out and caught her by her slender wrist again, pushing her up against the cold wall. "Come her and be quiet."

Cersei pressed halfheartedly against his broad chest before she was pinned to the wall. Her lips met his just as eagerly in the passionate kiss, her hands sliding up his chest to grasp at his shoulder. He smirked against her lips, his own hands sliding down her smooth, perfect body to pull her hips against his. Finally they were about to get down to what they came to the crumbling tower for. His smirk widened as he trailed his lips back down to her throat, one of his hands slipping between her thighs to press inside her.

"Stop it," she moaned lowly, her actions belying her words as she tilted her head back and spread her legs for him. He knew she didn't mean stop. "Stop it, stop it. Oh _please_ . . ." Whatever she was going to say next was lost to yet another moan as she tangled her fingers in his hair to push his head down to her ample chest. He could take the hint easily enough and wrapped his lips around her nipple to suck on it lightly, his tongue lapping lightly at the nub.

But the there was another sound; a sound like a gasp that came from too far away to have fallen from Cersei's lips. Then his sister was screaming and shoving him away from herself, pointing frantically to the window across the room.

"There was a face!" She shrieked wildly as an explanation.

Both of the twins rushed to the opening, only to look down at the face of one of the younger stark sons dangling precariously from the window's ledge. Jaime was rather impressed; the boy must have climbed all the way up the side of the tower on his own, which took not only courage, but no less of skill. He saw the recognition flit across the child's face as they stared at one another, the boy scrambling to find a good grip on the ledge desperately.

"He saw us!" Cersei cried, her beautiful eyes filled with shock and a little fear.

"So he did," he replied thoughtfully, trying to figure out a way to convince the boy to keep their little secret to himself. He sighed as the child slipped another inch, and reached down. "Take my hand, before you fall."

"What are you doing?!" Cersei demanded harshly, backing up a foot or so away from the window, the fear of discovery still written plain on her face.

Jaime ignored her; instead, as soon as he felt the small hand latch on to his own, he dragged the small body to safety. "How old are you boy?" he asked as he stood the boy up on the ledge. He could feel Cersei's withering glare on his back.

The boy didn't have a chance to answer; Cersei had suddenly lunged forward and, her seemingly delicate hands planted firmly on the boy's chest, shoved him out the window. There was a split second when the child seemed to almost be floating outside, a terrified expression on his face. Then he was falling rapidly downwards, a shrill scream trailing behind him. A quiet, but sickening thump cut the noise off suddenly.

In the distance, a wolf howled.

"Well," Jaime muttered after a moment of silence, moving away from the window rapidly to collect his clothing. "That is one way to make certain he wouldn't speak."

"I had to do it," she snapped back, pulling her own dress on. "We don't know how much he heard on top of what he saw! He would have told his father, and then my life would be forfeit!"

"_Our_ lives, dear sister," he reminded her with a wry smile, pausing a moment to admire the sight of her getting dressed. "And mine moreso than yours, I'd wager. My vows are rather strict on that front. At least your husband also breaks your marriage vows on a regular basis. He won't be so harsh on you."

"My husband doesn't like other people touching his possessions," Cersei shot back at her brother. "Hence, starting a war over a woman." She moved across the tower to leave, but Jaime grabbed her arm and pulled her against his chest once more. "What are you doing?!"

"One last kiss," he smirked, cutting off any protest she might have made with a hard, passionate kiss.

She kissed him back for a brief moment before jerking away and slapping the man again. He laughed as he watched her storm out, waiting a few minutes before following.

The wolf continued to howl.


End file.
